


In the hand of a best friend

by Tipofmytongue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Hotels, Love, M/M, Mind Palace, Post-His Last Vow, Press and Tabloids, Sex, Travel, Unrequited Love, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:03:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3514670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipofmytongue/pseuds/Tipofmytongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John's marriage failed he moved back to Baker Street to resume his old life as Sherlock's companion and best friend. When Mycroft sends the two of them to Denmark for a case, John starts questioning the platonic state of their friendship. Do best friends share beds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the hand of a best friend

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother language. Bear with me!  
> Please leave a feedback!

John rarely got really drunk. Neither did Sherlock, but this night they had realised that they both deserved a night out. The last case had been difficult and close to everlasting. They had felt like lawyers, reading through piles and piles of boring documents in the search for something “off”. They’d actually had nothing more to go on than “something off”. The third night of reading, John had risen from his chair, shrieked loudly and kicked hard into the wall below the mantelpiece. This had startled Sherlock, who’d responded with a little grunt. That was concentrated-Sherlock being startled. John had laughed at this, and Sherlock had responded by looking up from his documents and smiled broadly back to him. John wouldn’t have survived a case like this with anyone other than Sherlock.  
“Sherlock, this is close to death.” John had said, grinning and sighing at the same time.  
“No, it’s not that horri –“, Sherlock had answered, but stopped himself midair.  
“John, it was too close! The body was to close to the forest! I knew it! It couldn’t have been Lauren who murdered him! I knew it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he’d said while taking John’s face into his hands for a brief moment. John had uttered his usual flattering comment, and then Sherlock had phoned Lestrade and told him the case was solved. 

And now they were sitting on the dusty floor in Baker Street, in their fourth hour of drinking. John counted nine bottles of beer for himself and seven for Sherlock. They were both quite drunk.  
“You’re so bloody, fucking brilliant, Sherlick.”  
“It’s Sherlock, John. You ought to know that by now.”  
“Sher… lock. Fuck. You’re so bloody brilliant.”  
“I know. Whose turn is it?”  
“Yours.”  
“Okay, right.”  
Sherlock spun the empty beer bottle on the floor between them.  
“You gotta say something first.”  
“Oh, yeah.” Sherlock giggled back. The very few times John had seen Sherlock drunk he’d noticed that he became slightly more feminine in his ways. The horrific bar fight during his stag night, and the light kink in his wrist back in the flat. Tonight was no different, and John found it quite charming.  
“Right. The one whom the bottle points at will have to tell a secret they’ve told no one before.” Sherlock said. John, despite of his drunken light-headedness, caught Sherlock sending him an intense look. It made him shiver a bit, but only for a second. The bottle spun and spun until it stopped pointing at Sherlock.  
“Hah! Shame, Sherry boy!”  
“Sherry boy, really? Ehrm, alrighty then. I… hmm… I have never had sex with a woman before.”  
“Jeez, come on, even the Queen knows that by now.” John mocked.  
“Yes, you might be right.”  
“Come on, give me another one.”  
“I have, on the other hand, had sex with a man.”  
John choked on his beer and felt an unfamiliar knot of emotion in the deepest pit of his stomach.  
“You… you have?” he asked Sherlock, then drained his beer.  
“Yes.”  
“Who?”  
“Unimportant.”  
John got up and went to the refrigerator to collect another beer, but the act was more a way to hide his sudden mood change. So, Sherlock had been with another man before. John had always suspected that Sherlock swung that way, but he’d never dreamed of the possibility that he might have acted on it. Well, Sherlock was close to forty after all, John shouldn’t be too shocked, but still…  
“Getting one for me as well?” he heard Sherlock say.  
“Yeah… yeah, of course.” John answered and went back to sit down on the floor opposite his best friend.  
“Does it bother you?” Sherlock asked.  
“Does what bother me?”  
“My sexuality.”  
John felt himself blush to the colour of the London sun on extremely polluted mornings. He looked down at his hands at felt the nine beers do uncomfortable things to his stomach. Or was it the beers?  
“John? Are you there?”  
“What? Yes, yes.”  
“Does the fact that I am homosexual bother you?”  
“No.” John said, still not looking at Sherlock.  
“Then why can’t you look at me?” Sherlock asked, a tone of hurt in his voice. John looked up at Sherlock, into those heavenly blue eyes of his best friend. Get a grip, he thought. It’s Sherlock. Your best friend. Of course he is allowed to have a sex life. Of course he is. God knows I’ve been with enough women my lifetime. He smiled, and repeated his answer, but with more truth to it this time.  
“No. Of course it doesn’t bother me”  
“Good.”  
John leaned forward and put his hand on Sherlock’s, which lay across his black trousers. John thought this might be a nice gesture of his, but the moment their hands touched, Sherlock jerked it away, almost as if he’d been burnt. The awkward silence that arose with this action lasted four long seconds before Sherlock interrupted it.  
“So. Where were we?”  
“What? Oh, it’s your turn again.” John twanged dizzily.  
“Right. The one whom the bottle points at will have to call Lestrade and tell him that his wife is cheating on him.”  
“Is she though?”  
“Yes.”  
“Alright!” John said, as Sherlock spun the bottle, and neither of them could remember the phone call when they woke up the next day. 

***

Three days had gone since the drunken night at the floor. On Sherlock’s side, everything seemed to be just as it was before, but John felt that something had become awkward between them. He wondered when and with whom Sherlock had been with. He knew that Sherlock considered him to be his best friend, and everyone they knew said that Sherlock had never cared for anyone as much as he cared for John. Then what was it with him that made Sherlock seek affection somewhere else? Not that he himself had given Sherlock any reason to believe that he was interested, but still… What was wrong with him? If Sherlock cared for him as much as he did, and he really was into men, why hadn’t he tried to pursue anything? John vaguely remembered how Sherlock had removed his hand with the speed of lightning the moment John had touched it. He didn’t understand, and somewhere, on a level he didn’t quite know how to operate on, he felt hurt.

As he looked over at Sherlock, who was reading today’s newspaper, the buzzing of a phone interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock’s phone.  
“What now?” Sherlock spat into the phone. It was obviously Mycroft calling then.  
“Really? Well, okay. That’s… close to cool. Don’t gloat. Yep, tomorrow would be good. Will do.”  
Sherlock hung up and turned towards John.  
“Great news. Magnussen was a fraud.”  
“What?”  
“We have to go to Denmark.”  
“What?!”  
“Yup. Tomorrow morning.”  
“Wait, what?”  
Sherlock got up, and despite the fact that he, as always, failed to include John in the plans right away, John couldn’t help but smile. Sherlock’s enthusiasm was contagious.  
John had learned to just wait and let the enthusiasm wear itself out, and then he would be served all answers and then some. And like from a textbook, this is exactly what happened ten minutes later, after Sherlock had passed back and forth in the living room, checking things on his phone.  
“So. Here’s the deal. Magnussen didn’t have all that information stored in his mind palace. According to Mycroft, Magnussen had a brother, has a brother, who lives in the outskirts of Aarhus in Denmark. That’s where Magnussen kept all his information stored. I knew it!”  
“Wow… What a complete dick.”  
“Yeah, well, Mycroft wants us to go there and … get rid of the other Magnussen’s storage.”  
“Really? Wow. Brilliant!”  
“Yup. So you better start packing. I’m predicting a fine vacation for the two of us.”

***

Mycroft’s black car had picked them up early and driven them to Heathrow airport, where they had boarded a British Airways plane heading for Aarhus Airport. It was the tiniest airport John had ever set foot in. They had got on a blue bus that would take them directly to the centre of Aarhus. The city, Sherlock had explained, was Denmark’s second largest, with about 300.000 inhabitants. As the bus rolled into the bus station, Sherlock pointed at a large (in these surroundings), modern tower behind them.  
“That’s the city hall.”  
“Cool.” John said. He guessed that Sherlock had already read up on everything there was to know about Aarhus and stored the information in his mind palace. No reason to question the knowledge.  
They got out of the bus, collected their suitcases from underneath the bus and went to find a taxi.  
“It’s not a far walk, but we can do the tour later, after we’ve dropped our luggage.”  
“Fair enough.” John said and they got into a taxi where a Scandinavian-looking man greeted them.  
“Hvor skal I?”  
“Hotel Royal, tak.” Sherlock answered, and as the taxi driver started the engine, John gaped at Sherlock.  
“You speak Danish too?”  
“Yeah, obviously I had to learn it while I was dealing with the whole Magnussen business.”  
“You never spoke a word of Danish then.”  
“No, but I might have had to.” Sherlock ensured John and gave him a little wink.  
“Amazing. You’re amazing.”  
“Frankly, it’s not that hard. Just put a lot of vowels together and utter them as if you’ve got a big potato stuck in your throat.”  
John laughed, and heard that the taxi driver did the same.

Four minutes later they arrived at Hotel Royal, a large, magnificent old building with statues in front of it. Right next to it was a large church.  
“I’ll take you in there later. It’s quite amazing.” Sherlock said to John, with reference to the church. They paid the taxi driver and walked into the hotel foyer, and John gaped. It was decorated in gold and red, and he wondered how many months worth his salary it would cost to stay there.  
“Don’t worry. It’s not that expensive, besides it’s on Mycroft.” Sherlock said as an answer to John’s unspoken astonishment. They walked over to the receptionist, a brown haired woman in her twenties.  
“Hej, hvad kan jeg gøre for jer?” she said, and John only heard a long cavalcade of vowels, just as Sherlock had explained.  
“Jeg vil meget gerne booke et værelse vi kan bo i på ubestemt tid.” Sherlock said, and John felt himself grow even more impressed than he was in the taxi.  
“Hvad for slags værelse ønsker I?” the receptionist asked, and John still couldn’t understand anything.  
“Jeg vil meget gerne bo på et rum med kun en dobbeltseng.” John heard Sherlock said, and it sounded like complete gibberish.  
“Godt. Tredje sal. I kan bruge elevatoren derovre.”  
They both walked over to the elevator, Sherlock obviously leading the way.  
“The only thing I got from that exchange was that this is the elevator.” John said, half laughing, half still shocked by Sherlock’s linguistic skills.  
“Very good. Danes use a lot of English words, you see. Like computer, weekend, sweater and elevator.”  
They went into the elevator and Sherlock pressed three, key card in his hand. As they stepped out of the elevator they entered a beautiful hallway with multiple doors all around. Sherlock led the way towards a door at the far end, and opened it.  
The room was beautiful, John thought. Hints of gold everywhere, a beautiful view over the church, and a large square in front of it, which John had failed to notice earlier.  
“That’s called Store Torv”, Sherlock said, pointing at the square. “Large Square. Quite idiotic name. That over there is Bispetorv, with Aarhus Theatre behind it.”  
Sherlock pointed at a beautiful building decorated with old theatre figures.  
“Wow, really beautiful.” John said.  
“So, let’s unpack and then we could go for a walk or something.”  
John turned around to find his bed, and realised that there was only one bed in the room. A king size, but still. Only one bed.  
“Oh, yeah, there was a little problem with the check-in. They were out of long-term available double rooms, so this is all we got.” Sherlock said, sounding like a child explaining a wrongdoing.  
“Oh. Okay. Well. That’s fine, I guess.” John said, and noticed that all the strange feelings he’d experienced since the whole spin the bottle business, crept back into him, like unwelcome snakes. How would Sherlock feel about sleeping right next to him, when he couldn’t even stand touching his hand?  
“Good. And I won’t say anything to anyone.” Sherlock said mockingly, but somewhat serious at the same time.  
“What do you mean?” John asked earnestly.  
“I won’t say anything to anyone that might compromise your integrity as a straight man. I know how utterly and irreparably heterosexual you are.” Sherlock said, sounding even more serious. John clinched.  
“Sherlock, honestly, do you think I mind?”  
“Well, you’ve certainly have in the past. But don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret.” Sherlock said with an almost animalistic and seductive tone in his voice. John didn’t know how to answer this, so he chose to turn around and unpack his suitcase at the left side of the bed.  
“You know, just because I’m into men it doesn’t men I’ll jump you in my sleep.” Sherlock said behind his back, having moved to the right side of the bed, John deduced from the sound of it. John decided to confront Sherlock with it, speak his mind and then close his the lid on this matter for the rest of eternity.  
“Listen. I know that. I know you’re not into me like that. It’s quite obvious. So I’m not worried, all right?” John hoped this would do the trick. Sherlock gave him a slight smile and started unpacking, not answering John’s lid-closer of a statement. 

***

After half an hour they were both unpacked and dressed in fresh clothes. John felt the air between them was back to normal, and he was quite content with everything.  
They walked around in the city of Aarhus until late that evening. Sherlock had researched every possible tourist attraction there was, and had taken John to see The Old City and the art museum Aros, in which they had walked around in a large rainbow with a view over the whole city. As the clock stroke a quarter to seven, Sherlock led John from the museum and up to a building right next to it, a building almost entirely made of glass. John could see that this was some kind of cultural house.  
“I’ve got us tickets for Smetana’s Ma Vlast. With Aarhus Symphonic Orchestra.” Sherlock said. “He is the Czech composer you always ask me to play for you.”  
“Oh, really?!” John asked, almost jumping up and down out of rare excitement.  
“We’ll eat after.”  
“Nice. This is almost like a date, then.” John said before he could stop himself. It was meant as a joke. Sherlock didn’t catch up on the humour part.  
“No, that was not my agenda.” Sherlock said seriously. John hated himself for having brought up the subject again, but still, it was Sherlock who made such a big deal about him being gay, not John.  
“Sherlock, do I have to tell you again? I don’t mind you being gay. Why do you make such a big deal about it?”  
“I’m not making a big deal about it.”  
“Okay then. Who’s the man? Or men, or whatever? Whom have you been with?”  
“We are not having this discussion now. The concert is about to start.” Sherlock snapped loudly before pacing into the glass building. John stumbled after. Sherlock merely handed him his ticket and disappeared into the symphonic hall. John followed and placed himself beside Sherlock, but they were blocked from one another’s presence by a brick wall of devastating silence. The concert started and John loved the music from the very first moment, but he wasn’t quite able to enjoy it. All he could think about was his fight with Sherlock and it felt like heavy tons were crushing down on him. The snakes in the pit of his stomach wanted to make their escape, and just as the orchestra was playing a particularly beautiful sequence, they found their way up John’s throat and out through his eyes, disguised as salty liquid. Obviously Sherlock noticed because he put his arm around John’s shoulder and gave him a tiny smile. John felt warm again.  
When the next movement ended, John, unconsciously, lifted his hand and placed it on the one Sherlock had draped around his shoulder, and immediately Sherlock withdrew his entire arm, though slowly this time. Once again, John was completely puzzled by what happened. He tried looking over at Sherlock, but couldn’t see a trace of the last minute’s events in his eyes. Sherlock was now mimicking the violins with his hands. Strange, John thought. 

***

Sherlock took John to a running sushi restaurant in a street called Vestergade. John wasn’t used to eating sushi, but he found it very tasty. Sherlock acted as though nothing strange had happened at all, and that they were still the best of friends they could possibly be. And they were of course. All best friends fight sometimes. They talked about everything, but mostly about Sherlock’s plan to break into Magnussen’s basement. According to Mycroft, there weren’t any indications that Magnussen’s brother, who was called Jeppe Julius Magnussen, was involved in his brother’s former affairs. Apparently he was only holding onto the stuff with the hopes of selling it to the people involved. Easy made money, as Mycroft had said. However, there were still a lot of government secrets there, and Mycroft only knew a little extent of what these were, so he wanted it all collected before Jeppe Magnussen had the chance to selling it to someone.  
John swallowed down a whole rainbow maki with salmon and directed a new question to Sherlock.  
“How are we going to break into a storage room that size and bring it with us unnoticed?”  
“We’re not going to bring it with us. What Mycroft needs is a final confirmation of the storage’s actual existence. Then we will have local police deal with Jeppe while Mycroft gathers all his resources from hell and comes to collect it all.”  
“What does he really need us for, then?”  
“Two reasons. One. Jeppe Magnussen still hasn’t done anything illegal, so it will be impossible to get a warrant. Two. Mycroft doesn’t trust anyone enough to be exposed to the potential information within the storage without wanting to abuse it.”  
“But he trusts us.”  
“Obviously.”  
Being engaged in the conversation, none of them noticed that they were reaching for the same plate of sushi running by. As John’s hand touched Sherlock’s he once again noticed how Sherlock withdrew it. This time a bit more camouflaged, but with a very obvious suppressed sigh.  
“Did you want the plate, or…?” John asked, trying his best to be gentle.  
“No, you take it. I’m full.” Sherlock said, eyes fixed on something insignificant to John’s left.  
“Alright then. If you say so.”  
Sherlock watched John finish (took him seven more plates to feel satisfied), and called for the waiter to pay. The waiter was Japanese, but spoke Danish.  
“Vi vil meget gerne betale nu.” Sherlock said, not looking at John.  
“Selvfølgeligt. Vent lige, så kommer jeg tilbage med dankortautomaten.”  
“Kan vi få otte flasker husets øl, også? Til at tage med?”  
“Det må I gerne.” the waiter said, and disappeared.  
Sherlock found a Visa card in his pocket that John had never seen, DK written in white on a red background.  
“You need these to pay almost everywhere in Denmark. Regular Visas don’t always apply. Stupid.” Sherlock said, and John was pleased to hear the usual annoyance in Sherlock’s voice.  
“By the way, I ordered some beers to go. The same Japanese one you’ve been drinking tonight. You liked it, didn’t you?”  
“Yes, that’s great!” John said contentedly. The waiter reappeared with a bag of beer bottles, and Sherlock paid for the meal. The fresh Danish air was welcome to John when they stepped outside.  
“It’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?” John asked Sherlock, as he looked down the little street.  
“Yes. There are many beautiful things.” Sherlock said looking down at John, and once again John felt this unidentifiable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why was Sherlock acting so strange? Sometimes completely distanced and cold, and the next moment so warm, caring, yes almost seductive. And why did these little seductions make John’s heart beat faster? 

 

***

The walk back to the hotel had only taken five minutes, and by the time they entered the room the clock was eleven PM.  
“Tired?” Sherlock asked John, and walked over to the window to close the curtains.  
“In a good way. Not very sleepy though.”  
“Me neither. Shall we watch a movie or something?”  
“Yeah, beer and a movie. Brilliant!” John smiled.  
“We’ll have to sit in the bed though, you see how the television is bolted to the wall. Can’t turn it.”  
“Well, that’s the comfiest bed I’ve ever laid eyes on, so I’m won’t be hard to please.”  
As the words escaped John’s mouth he heard how embarrassingly sexual they sounded. He had not meant that at all. Sherlock caught his eye and lifted an eyebrow. John was afraid that Sherlock might pick a fight over it again, but instead he just disposed of his coat and said:  
“We should brush our teeth first.”  
“And then drink beer?”  
“Yeah, let’s be crazy.” Sherlock said, eyes suddenly gleaming predatorily.  
They both went into the bathroom, which was a beautiful one, decorated with roses and painted art. John felt like stepping into a romantic movie, but he knew better than to say this to Sherlock. There was only one sink in the bathroom and John, being the shortest, stepped closest to it and started brushing his teeth. John could see in the mirror Sherlock getting undressed down to his black underwear only. This was hardly the first time John had seen Sherlock in his underwear, but somehow this time it made him completely forget about time and space. He just stared at Sherlock, mouth almost open, and it wasn’t until Sherlock addressed him that he re-emerged back to normalcy.  
“Something caught your eye?” Sherlock asked, a hint of mocking in his voice. John did not know how to interpret this. He resumed his teeth brushing and Sherlock stepped closer to him, so close that their bodies was touching. A shiver ran down John’s spine, and then another one as Sherlock leaned over to put toothpaste onto his toothbrush. And then John felt a weak thrust in his lower back. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt as if Sherlock was having an erection.  
“God, I hate these small hotel samples.” Sherlock said casually and leaned away from John again. Had it been a coincidence? Or maybe it wasn’t Sherlock’s erection he’d felt after all. If it had been, how could Sherlock act so nonchalant?  
“Why do you hate them so much?” John asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing.  
“There are several reasons. Okay, two reasons. One. They suck –“  
John laughed at this.  
“… and two. They are extremely inconvenient products for a person with large hands, such as myself.”  
“Well, in any other circumstance I find your hands to be quite appreciative.” John said, and patted Sherlock’s right hand. And once again, John forgot Sherlock’s seemingly hatred for being touched by John, and was startled by the quick withdrawal.  
“I’m sorry.” John said, before he could help himself.  
“Tomorrow I’ll buy a new toothpaste.” Sherlock said, leaned over John to put it back onto the sink, and once again John felt something hard touch his lower back.  
“Well, I’ll choose a film that we both can enjoy. I was planning on showing you the Danish series called “Rejseholdet”. It’s about a team solving crimes, but I think you’d hate me for always deducing who the killer is. I can’t help myself.”  
“What are we watching then?”  
“It’s a Danish too. A movie called ‘A short a long’, ‘En kort en lang’. It’s supposed to be quite good. Or so I’ve read."  
Sherlock exited the bathroom but didn’t close the door. John leaned backwards and saw the profile silhouette of his best friend… and the obvious erection he indeed was carrying. Oh my god, John thought. John felt something within himself bubble from the very core of his body, and before he knew it he was supporting a semi-erect penis himself. Oh my god, he thought again. Mortifying. He stepped out of his clothes, and made sure to climb into the bed while Sherlock was turned away from him. As Sherlock got the DVD started he climbed into the bed and placed himself close to the middle of it. In other words; close to John. 

***

John wasn’t sure whether or not Sherlock had picked the movie by a coincidence or if it was some kind of subtle reason behind it. The movie was about two men in a relationship, but their relationship was on the verge of destruction due to the one man’s affair with a woman. John sent Sherlock an insecure look, and Sherlock responded by putting his arm around John. What the hell, John thought. He won’t let me touch his hand, but this he wants. He expected the best defence was humour and addressed Sherlock as thus.  
“Not exactly the typical best friend behaviour, this?” John said, laughing.  
“Well, we’ve never been of the average best friend sort either, have we?” Sherlock said, smirking. “Does my arm bother you?”  
“No, not at all.” John said.  
“There are a lot of things that best friends can do.” Sherlock continued, eyes fixed on the television.  
“Like what?” John said, and felt his heart pounding a bit faster, doing unspeakable things to the area between his legs.  
“For example. I’ve been wondering if best friends can do this.” Sherlock said, and moved the arm that was enclosed around John further down on his chest, stroking one of John’s nipples. John let out a gasp.  
“I don’t know…” he managed to answer as he felt his nipple harden.  
“Do best friends do this, then?” Sherlock asked, and turned around so that he easily could remove the duvet and place his other hand on John’s lower abdomen. This time John wasn’t capable of giving a response. He knew what was coming next and his entire body trembled just by the thought of it.  
“Can best friends do this?” Sherlock asked again, and turned completely around so that he could loosen his hand from behind John’s shoulder and move it directly onto John’s bulging underpants. John let out a vocal gasp, far too loud not to be embarrassing.  
“No. I don’t think best friends do that.”  
“Well. We might want to redefine the word friendship, then.” Sherlock said predatory, and as the movie came to an end – there was something about an airplane, but John hadn’t the faintest idea what had happened – Sherlock moved his head down towards John’s crotch, removed the underwear and released the achingly hard penis that had been trapped inside.  
“So much for being straight.” Sherlock chuckled, and John was about to respond, but had to swallow his words as Sherlock attacked his penis with his mouth. It was sensation like nothing John had ever felt before.  
“Oh, god, Sherlock!” he cried. Sherlock didn’t respond, just continued to suck as if there was no tomorrow. John rapidly felt an orgasm build up, but Sherlock obviously deduced this in time to stop it from happening and stopped sucking.  
“Tasty.” Sherlock said in a voice so deep and dirty it made John shiver again.  
“Turn over.” he commanded. John felt like he had no say in the line of events whatsoever, and on a level he felt like Sherlock was almost violating him. But it was all so hot, and he’d never experienced anything like this, with no woman, so he obligingly did as Sherlock told him.  
“What are you –“ John tried to outer, but Sherlock stopped him by shushing in his ear.  
“I’m going to fuck you, John Watson.” Sherlock whispered, and before John could think of any way to protest he felt something soft and wet touch his arsehole. Oh my dearest goodness, he thought, as he let out a wild gasp. Sherlock was penetrating him with his tongue. And it felt one hundred percent amazing. John’s response became more and more vigorous, and once again he felt an orgasm trying to build up from deep within him. Sherlock kept on licking, and suddenly he inserted two fingers on each side of John’s entrance so that his arsehole would stretch. Despite the extreme pleasure, John couldn’t help but feeling slightly ashamed and embarrassed. Anal sex had never been on the menu when he’d been with women.  
Suddenly Sherlock stopped altogether.  
“Keep still.” He told John and then nothing happened for a whole minute. John felt the anticipation and nervousness build up in him. After what felt like an hour, John felt Sherlock's weight press down on his back, and he knew what was going to happen. Sherlock placed his hands on John’s sides and slowly entered him. John tensed as he felt Sherlock’s cock inside of him. It was very large. John heard Sherlock gasp loudly and then he slowly started moving within John, waiting for John’s sphincter to adjust to this foreign invasion of cock. Before John had adjusted fully Sherlock picked up speed and moved his hands down onto John’s arse and dug them deep down.  
“Sherlock, my god!” he gasped, and knew that he wouldn’t last another minute of this.  
“Erupt with me, John.” Sherlock whispered, and that’s all it took. They both screamed out loud in overwhelming orgasmic pleasure, and John felt his cock squirt fluids onto the expensive sheets. His orgasm felt everlasting, his whole body was on fire, and after something like eternity he finally descended and buried his face deep down in the sheets.  
He felt Sherlock withdraw himself from him, and waited for the long, after-sex embrace he would probably get. But it never came. Sherlock jumped out of bed and entered the bathroom without closing the door. John heard Sherlock turning on the sink and after about ten minutes he re-emerged and climbed into the bed. John opened his mouth to tell him how mind-blowing the whole act had been, but Sherlock beat him to the punch.  
“We ought to get some sleep.”  
“Sherlock…”  
“Long day tomorrow.”  
John reached out his hand to stroke Sherlock, but Sherlock turned his back against him and turned off the light on his nightstand.  
“Well, good night then.” John tried, his stomach hollow from the conversational rejection.  
“Night.” Sherlock answered.  
John didn’t fall asleep before three in the morning. 

***

The next day John woke abruptly. He remembered last night in vivid images. Sherlock was still asleep, which was quite unusual. John stretched and felt a slight ache in his sphincter. But it wasn’t even comparable to the aching feeling in his stomach. He looked over at Sherlock who stirred and started waking as well. As their eyes met John tried to communicate his feelings non-verbally for a second before he said good morning. He then leaned forward to give Sherlock a kiss, but Sherlock turned away before he got the chance.  
“Good morning. Slept well?” Sherlock asked as if they greeted each other while the kettle was boiling in their kitchen back in Baker Street.  
“Yeah, well, it took me a while to fall asleep.” John tried.  
“That happens. Now, we should get some breakfast before heading out to Viby.”  
“Viby?”  
“That’s where Jeppe Magnussen lives.”  
“Okay.” John paused slightly before he tried again. “Sherlock…”  
“Let’s focus on this case, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
John had no idea what was going on.

***

As they walked off the bus in the centre of Viby, just a tiny little place with a tiny little church and a tiny little square, Sherlock led John down a street and then down another street.  
“Jeppe Magnussen is the complete opposite of his brother. He works as a meatball chef at IKEA, and that’s about half an hour from here. He won’t be home all day. I’ve had Mycroft check his working schedule.”  
“Brilliant.” John said before he could stop himself. Sherlock sent him a smile and it made John bubble with warmth.  
Finally they stopped in front of a typical Danish brownstone.  
“Here.” Sherlock said. They walked up on the front porch and Sherlock whipped out a little pin with which he unlocked the door in a heartbeat.  
“Wait here.” Sherlock addressed John. “Make a sound if someone appears.”  
John nodded in agreement and stood by the front door, waiting. After twenty-three minutes Sherlock came back outside.  
“Mycroft and his people are on the way. Magnussen was a moron of dimensions and the case is finished.”  
“That was easy.” John said in amusement.  
“I must admit, I thought we would have to stay in Denmark for days and days, but the idiot hadn’t even locket his basement door. It even stood ajar and was full of all kinds of information. Mycroft will be thrilled.”  
Sherlock led the way back to the bus stop, and John suddenly felt emotionally knocked out. What would happen now?  
“So we go back to London then?”  
“We can linger until tomorrow.” Sherlock said and turned and looked directly into John’s eyes. “If you wouldn’t mind, though.”  
“I’d very much like that.” John said, blushing.  
Sherlock must have noticed, but he didn’t comment on it, just kept on walking towards the bus stop. Ten minutes later a bus appeared and none of them said anything on their way back to the hotel.  
The day went by fast. Sherlock took John inside the grand church outside their hotel room, and John found it to be very beautiful. After that they ate at a restaurant down by the boulevard next to an artificially dug out river.  
“Do you want to go for some drinks somewhere?” Sherlock asked mildly.  
“Yeah, yeah… if you want, I mean.”  
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t want it.”  
“No, of course not…”  
“So do you want to go for drinks?”  
“Yes… okay.”  
“Good. Let me just pay.”  
Sherlock called for the waiter in Danish and gave him his Dankort, as the mystical Visa card was called. They left the restaurant and Sherlock led the way to a tiny little bar in which one could smoke inside.  
“Retarded Danish rule. One can smoke inside if the room is less than 40 square meters. Idiotic.”  
The place was called Ris Ras and John felt a distinct smell of marihuana inside. He glanced over at Sherlock, but said nothing. They sat down in a locked away corner after having ordered two Danish beers. These beers were drunk in silence, but when Sherlock came back with round two John felt it was time to talk.  
“Sherlock…? Could I… I mean… I just wanted to… talk.”  
“Is this the time and place for something that makes you stutter like a twelve year old school girl?”  
“What? No, I’m not. I just… Christ…” He leaned closer to Sherlock, even though they were seated pretty close already. He put his hand on Sherlock’s.  
“I just wanted to talk about… last night.” John hinted carefully.  
“John, will you remove that hand, please?”  
“Oh…” John removed it and stared blankly at the wall, before he gathered himself enough to speak.  
“I think I’ll go back to the hotel now. You can finish your beer on your own, right?” John got up from his seat. He couldn’t stand being this close to his best friend anymore and at the same time being so rejected.  
“John, I’m sorry.” John heard behind him, but he didn’t want Sherlock to notice the stream of tears that was running down his cheeks. 

***

When Sherlock got back to the hotel, John pretended to be asleep. He made sure to breathe heavily so that Sherlock wouldn’t deduce his feigning. Sherlock went into the bathroom and came back out four minutes later. John felt the weight of Sherlock hit the bed, but didn’t move a muscle. He was not ready. Sherlock tucked himself into the duvet and turned off the lights. Out of the woods then, John thought, so far from sleep as he could possibly be.  
“I know you’re not asleep.” Sherlock said after some time.  
“How can you possibly know that?” John said, still lying with his face turned away from Sherlock.  
“Because you are exaggerating your breathing. You are a very light sleeper. It’s probably due to your time in Afghanistan. Always on alert. You never breathe this heavily when you’re asleep.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yup.” Sherlock said, punctuating the p as he often did when making a point.  
John had absolutely no idea what to say or what to do. He was afraid to even touch Sherlock accidently with his leg or something, in case he’d be rejected again. After a while Sherlock spoke again.  
“Do you want to play the best friend game like we did last night?” he said.  
John felt his cock arise by these very words. He swallowed, but didn’t dare turn around. Not yet.  
“It will be our little secret.” Sherlock said, just like he’d said yesterday. John didn’t answer, but let out a willing sigh.  
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sherlock said and before John could take another breath he felt Sherlock’s fingers inside him. Underwear miraculously removed. That was fast. John gasped and moved his hand directly onto his cock and began stroking it. Sherlock fucked him faster and faster with at least three of his fingers, and John wondered for a second if he would insert his entire hand, but at that thought, Sherlock withdrew and replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock. John could feel it was already rock hard, just like his own. A second later John was filled from the inside out and his prostate was experiencing stimulation like it never had.  
“God damn!” John cried and came before he could stop himself. Semen gushed over him like a tide wave. Sherlock hadn’t reached orgasm yet, and the feeling of having him inside after his orgasm was almost too much to bear. Sherlock, obviously experienced, understood this and withdrew.  
“I’ll go wash myself, and when I come back I need you to finish me off with your mouth.” he said casually, as if he was asking for a help with the dinner.  
John swallowed and became slightly worried. He’d never done anything like that before. What if he couldn’t? What if he choked? What if he didn’t like it? He didn’t think of himself as gay in any way, so this indefinable thing with Sherlock was obviously an exception to the rule. Sherlock came back, and for the first time, John could really take a look at him. In the soft light from the window he looked like a naked god.  
“Wow, Sher –“ was all John managed to say before Sherlock entered the bed from John’s side and sat across his upper chest, erection only a centimetre from John’s face.  
“Afraid?” Sherlock asked, once again with this strange, seductive, animalistic tone.  
“As you would have put it… it’s not really my area.” John said, trying to be funny, but there was nothing funny about this situation at all. Sherlock just slightly narrowed his eyes and pierced John with his gaze. John lifted his head a little and let his tongue touch the tip of Sherlock’s cock. Not bad. He opened his mouth and started sucking on the upper part, while he, despite the strange angle, used his hand to satisfy the lower part of the shaft. This was actually a huge turn-on, and by the time Sherlock reached orgasm – didn’t really take that long – John was semi-erect again. This could go on and on in everlasting circles. Sherlock collapsed on top of John, his breath heavy and slow. They lay like that for a good while, until John lifted his hand and hoped that Sherlock in his post-orgasmic state would appreciate being touched, at least on the back, but once again he flinched and then moved away at John’s touch. The huge disappointment that followed made John go soft again. He decided to confront Sherlock.  
“Why won’t you let me touch you?”  
“Oh John, I really wish you could keep your thoughts to yourself sometimes.”  
“Excuse me? I’ve just had your cock inside me, but as soon as you’re finished you won’t acknowledge my existence! Am I just a rectum to you?” John said angrily. At these words Sherlock looked at him with a very sad look on his face.  
“Is that what you think of me?” He sounded both sad and disappointed.  
“I don’t want to.”  
“But you do.”  
“No… I’m sorry… I just… You’ve made me cross some fuck-high barriers these two days.” John said, looking at his hands. They were sticky from having held Sherlock’s cock. Somewhere John was happy that at least a part of Sherlock didn’t hate his hands, although it was just dead semen.  
“John. It’s not like that. That man I told you about. The man I’ve been with." Sherlock took a long time searching for the right words. He was a male prostitute whom I came across while I was in Europe.”  
“A… what?!”  
“You heard me the first time. And before you freak out, I’ve had a medical check. I’m fine.”  
“But… why? I mean. You could probably get anyone you want.”  
“Oh please.”  
“I mean it.”  
“Stop it. All I can say is that I did it for a reason.”  
“Let me have it then.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath. “While I was faking my death, I was alone absolutely all the time, apart from the time when I was captured, which isn’t exactly what I’ll define as good company. So… when I’d been away for a year, I.. –“  
It was unusual for Sherlock to not finish sentences, John thought, but then again, he had never seen him as emotional as this. He had to fight the urge to touch him.  
“… I missed you. I felt incomplete, and the more days that went by, the more I felt my heart burning. Maybe that’s what Moriarty had meant when he said that he would burn the heart out of me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and it started compromising my work. So one night, while I was in Azerbaijan, I went to a brothel for men and paid a man there to sleep with me. All I thought of the entire time was you. I imagined it was you I was with. He had your height.” Sherlock added, trying to smile, but John could tell this was too hard to laugh away. Still, it made absolutely no sense. If Sherlock really wanted him that way, and had for such a long time, why wouldn’t he let John touch him?  
“Sherlock… I didn’t realize. I… So what are you saying?”  
“I know I shouldn’t have gone after you like I did last night, yet along continue it today. But I… I thought that this might be the one opportunity for me. To have sex with you. Which I’ve wanted since… basically forever. But I know I shouldn’t have.”  
“Why? I liked it.” John said, trying to comfort.  
“Your sexual appetite makes you hard just by being exposed to strong wind. I’m not taking credit for that.”  
John had absolutely no idea where this conversation would lead. He looked over at Sherlock, who still looked sadder than John had ever seen him.  
“I don’t think that’s fair, Sherlock. Why are you being like this? I liked being with you, and if you want to know, my abdomen has been bubbling and aching around the clock since we played spin the bottle back home in Baker Street."  
“John. What you casually like, you can multiply with your IQ and then you’ll have the answer to how much this means to me. Don’t you get it? I love you, John Watson.”  
John felt his heart would jump out of his throat. He felt something press hard behind his eyelids, but insisted on keeping his eyes fixed on the deep blue pair of heaven before him. Sherlock loved him. How could he possibly?  
“You… love me?” John shifted in the bed and tried to move closer to Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t back away this time, and neither did he answer.  
“This is quite a shock.” John continued.  
“Well, it shouldn’t be. You ought to be a complete and utter moron not to have noticed that. And you are not a moron. Well, sometimes you are.” Sherlock said, and before John could reply Sherlock cut him across.  
“I think I would like to sleep now. No more talking.”  
“Sure?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can I at least put my arms around you?” John asked hopefully.  
“No, John. You can’t.”

***

John lay awake for several hours. He had listened to Sherlock’s breath growing deeper and deeper until it evolved into silent snores. So that was the explanation. Sherlock loved him. Sherlock had even paid someone to sleep with him so that he could imagine he was being with John. But something still didn’t make sense. Why was Sherlock so afraid of John’s physical approaches? Surely when someone you love wants to touch you, you let them, don’t you? At least John would appreciate it if Sherlock touched him. Wait, what was that? John felt something shift in him, so emotional that it became physical. John wanted Sherlock to touch him, and not just on a sexual level. He wanted to be held, to be caressed, to be loved. The revelation hit him like a lightning. He was in fact in love with Sherlock. He’d just been the world’s biggest idiot in denial. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Sherlock, which as he came to think of it, he realised they hadn’t done yet. They hadn’t even made love per se. It was pure sex. Rough, hard, sexy. It hadn’t been love. Every attempt on John’s side to show affection had been completely rejected. And then he understood. Ha was indeed the biggest idiot alive. Since the very beginning John had denied in every way that he was interested in Sherlock. On their first dinner together, while they were spying on the taxi in Northumberland Street, he’d explicitly said that they weren’t on a date. He’d told Mrs. Hudson that they of course would be needing two bedrooms when he moved into Baker Street. He’d told Irene Adler that he wasn’t gay, and he’d said the same to Mrs. Hudson. Heck, he’d even gone and married a woman (even though that went straight to hell). He had rejected, declined and dismissed Sherlock since the very beginning, so afraid of what people would think, that he even hid the truth from himself: The truth being that he loved Sherlock intensely. No wonder Sherlock wouldn’t want John to show him affection. He was afraid of opening his heart even more to someone who clearly wasn’t interested.  
John poked Sherlock in the side. Sherlock stirred and bent over, face turned upwards. John leaned over and put his lips onto Sherlock’s beautiful mouth. The latter awoke abruptly.  
“John, would you please not do that?” Sherlock said with an alarmingly stoic tone.  
“Sherlock…”  
“I’m not going to say it again. I can’t take it.”  
“Sherlock… I love you too.” John whispered, inches away from his face.  
“You… what? You … what?” Sherlock stuttered.  
“I love you, dickhead. Now will you let me kiss you?”  
Sherlock was unable to answer, and John took it as a sign that he could kiss him again. Which he did. He kissed Sherlock deeply and this time he got the response he wanted. Sherlock placed his arm on John’s back and the kiss lasted for several minutes. After a while Sherlock broke apart from John.  
“Are you sure? You’re not saying this to accommodate me or anything?”  
“No. Honestly. I want to be with you.”  
“That’s easier said than done. In this hotel room there’s only you and me. Out there we’re out in the open.”  
“I don’t care. I love you.”  
“We’ll see in the morning.” Sherlock said, kissed John again and moved to his side so that he could put his arm around John. 

***

They overslept like teenagers the next day and had to rush out of the hotel room and grab a taxi to the airport. Sherlock sat in the front for some reason and John heard him speak to the taxi driver in seemingly fluent Danish. They reached the airport just in time to check in their bags, and then rushed to the gate. There were only four gates there, so there wasn’t much rushing required, but still. When they had finally boarded the plane, they found their seats and could take a real look at one another for the first time that day.  
“I still love you, you know.” John said. “Even though it’s next morning, or whatever you said last night.” He put his hand on Sherlock’s. Sherlock smiled. “So what are you saying then? You want us to be a real thing, you and I?”  
“Yeah, I’d like to try that.”  
“Even though you are not in fact homosexual, as you’ve claimed at several occasions?”  
John looked around, feeling other people’s looks on him. He noticed that Sherlock picked this up.  
“I was several years in the army without ever lusting for another man. I’ve always dated women. Forgive me for being straight.”  
“Then what is this with me, then?” Sherlock said, once again there was a hint of hurt in his voice.  
“Well… It’s you, isn’t it? Can’t you see the beauty of that instead? Despite my sexuality I still am attracted to you. Despite my long record of dating women I’ve fallen in love with you. If that isn’t a testimony of your unique greatness, then I don’t know what is.” John hoped this would sit well. Sherlock considered for a moment before he gave John a little smile.  
“That is a valid point, John Watson.”  
The plane took off and headed for England. John looked out of the window and saw the flat country of Denmark disappear behind him. He felt quite happy. 

***

John took into consideration what Sherlock had said about him suddenly shifting sides or whatever one would call it. He remembered the slight embarrassment he’d felt when he was being penetrated by Sherlock, even though it was the best thing he’d ever felt, it had somehow made him feel submissive in a way. He wondered what people around them would say if they were suddenly seen holding hands in public. What would the newspaper headlines say when the press discovered it? He would have to explain himself to everyone he knew. What would all his former dates think when they saw? Fuck all that, John concluded. He loved Sherlock, truly did, he knew that now, and he was not going to hide that from anyone. After they collected their suitcases, John took Sherlock’s free hand and together they walked out of Heathrow airport. Outside Anthea stood waiting for them, face down in her telephone as usual. She looked up at them when they approached, then down at their joint hands. John remembered how he’d tried to ask her out the first time he’d met her, and instinctively let go of Sherlock’s hand. He felt Sherlock's eyes burn through his neck, but turned and dropped his suitcase in the back of the black car sent by Mycroft and bent down to enter the car. Sherlock entered on the other side. John saw how Sherlock’s hand was resting on the seat between them, and moved his own to enclose their fingers. Sherlock sighed somewhat happily in response.

Back in Baker Street Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them with warm tea and fresh cookies, clearly arranged by Mycroft. She congratulated them with their fine work in Denmark, once again clearly information she’d gotten from Mycroft.  
“Thank you.” Sherlock said. “Now, Mrs. Hudson, John and I will need to talk for a very long time now, so it would be great if you didn’t come up anymore today.”  
“Of course, dear.” she said and left their flat.  
“What do you want to talk about?” John asked, slightly worried.  
“Nothing whatsoever. I want to make love to you. Sofa. Now.”  
They kissed themselves towards the sofa and when they reached its edge they just kept on kissing while taking off each other’s clothes. After a couple of struggled minutes they were completely naked.  
“Did you like what I did the first night?” Sherlock asked, once again with a voice so deep and predatory that it made John shiver.  
“Which part? I liked all of it.”  
“Bend over, and I’ll show you which part.”  
John did as he was told and the anticipation was nothing compared to the actual action when Sherlock inserted his tongue inside him again. John let out a gasp. Sherlock kept this going for ten minutes, before he withdrew and offered to penetrate him for real.  
“Yes, please, Sherlock! But hold me. I need you to hold your arms around me.”  
Sherlock put one arm on John’s hip and the other enclosed around his torso. Then he entered, much more gently than he’d done the two other times. This was love making John thought. The sensation was incredible. Having Sherlock’s cock inside him was the very best thing he’d ever experienced. They started moving back and forth, and Sherlock placed his hand on John’s rock hard penis and moved it in the same rhythm as his hips. They both started making loud noises, so loud that Mrs. Hudson would probably hear them, but that was not worth a fraction of a thought at this moment.  
“Sherlock, fuck – me – harder!” John cried and Sherlock did as John commanded. Short moments later they both came at the same time and collapsed onto the sofa. 

When they came to their senses John wriggled so that he could kiss Sherlock on the lips.  
“Up we go then. We haven’t eaten properly all day. Let’s get some take-away.” Sherlock said. They stood up and put on their dressing gowns. As they re-emerged from the bathroom they walked directly into Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson.  
“Hi guys. Sorry for barging in, but you didn’t hear us knock.” Lestrade said, uncharacteristically happy. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
“Wow, that was some timing.” John whispered in Sherlock’s ear.  
“No, it wasn’t.” Sherlock answered loud enough for the three visitors to hear.  
“Huh?”  
“It was horrible timing. Look at them. Lestrade is feigning some kind of idiotic happiness, Donovan looks utterly disgusted and Anderson, well, look at that. Anderson’s cheeks are blushed and he is trying to hide a very visible erection. I’m thinking the timing wasn’t so good and that they walked back out again. Am I wrong?” Sherlock said smirking.  
“We didn’t linger. I swear. We just, we saw you guys on the sofa and just waited outside. Sorry guys. And… congrats. This must be a fairly new development then? Although, I always thought you would find one another eventually.” Lestrade said. John felt himself redden.  
“Well, it’s… it’s not definite… I mean – oh… I need to… yeah.”  
He took a step away from Sherlock and muttered something about needing new clothes and disappeared up the stairs.

Christ, this was hell, he thought as he entered his bedroom. He didn’t re-emerge in the living room before he was positive that Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson had left.  
Sherlock was using his computer when he entered the living room. He was still in his dressing gown.  
“So, what was that all about?” John asked, trying to sound casual.  
“New case. I think I’ve solved it just by listening to them talk, they are such morons, but I said we’ll meet them at the location in about half an hour.”  
“Oh. Okay. Do I need to come?”  
“What do you mean ‘Do I need to?’”  
“I just… It seems to me like you’ve solved it already. Why do you need me there?” John asked, still affected by the embarrassment from before.  
“Fine. You know what, John? Fuck this.” Sherlock said, and John was startled by Sherlock’s unusual cursing.  
“What are you – ?” John didn’t know how to finish the sentence.  
“I can’t do this with you. Loving me in a locked room is not the same as loving me out in the open.”  
“I do love you out in the open.”  
“No, you don’t. You fled the scene when Lestrade asked about the two of us. What the hell was that for? We could have laughed about it. But no, the great straight man John Hamish Watson couldn’t possibly be mistaken for a homosexual. Oh my, oh my, the sky has fallen!”  
“I –“ John tried responding.  
Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom, shut the door with drastic force and reappeared quickly, having changed into his usual clothes.  
“No, I don’t need you at the crime scene. I want you. And I can’t do this.” Sherlock said and almost ran down the stairs, John not able to follow him as he felt like his feet were glued to the floor. 

***

Sherlock didn’t come home that night. John had paced around their flat since Sherlock had left. When the clock showed three in the night he texted Sherlock. 

"Sherlock. I’m an idiot.  
I just need to readjust.  
Or something.  
It’s like I’ve been in a  
bubble my entire life  
and suddenly something  
(you) burst it, and I’m  
breathing pure oxygen  
for the very first time.  
It takes some adjustment.  
Please. Come back to me." 

After the text message had been sent John fell asleep and slept just as badly as he'd done after his return from Afghanistan.  
When he woke up the next morning there was a text message on his phone, but it wasn’t from Sherlock. It was from Mycroft. John’s heart pounded hard. What could possibly have happened to make Mycroft text him? He opened the text and let out a breath of relief. 

"John.  
I need you present in my office  
at exactly 1 o’clock.  
Press conference regarding  
your work in Denmark.  
Mycroft Holmes.  
PS: Be a dear and leave my  
brother alone during the  
conference." 

So Sherlock was with Mycroft. At least he was alright. He stood up, took a quick shower and put on his finest clothes. He wanted to look nice for Sherlock. 

***

The press conference was a horrible one. Sherlock didn’t look at John for a second, despite John’s many efforts. They almost didn’t say anything, seeing how it was the recovered information from the basement that was the actual subject, so Mycroft did most of the talking.  
The three of them posed for a couple of photos and Sherlock disappeared before John had time to say anything to him.  
Mycroft only sent him a greasy smile before he followed his brother out the sidedoor.  
John saw that Diana Leroy from The Daily Mail still hadn’t left the room. She was chatting away on her phone. John looked at her for a long time. They had crossed paths plenty of times, and she was the journalist who most frequently asked about the state of their relationship. John approached her when she’d finished her call.  
“Hi. I just wondered… Do you want a scoop?” John asked, smiling. 

***

Mrs. Hudson was up early that morning. She was excited about today’s newspaper. After all, her boys would be featured in an article regarding their work in Denmark. She was so proud of them. Motherly proud. She walked out to collect the paper and she actually dropped her teacup and screamed when she saw the front page. As she picked it up and studied it closer, tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Lestrade usually slept as long as he could, then rushed out of the house to get to work in time. Today he’d woken up early for absolutely no reason. Well, maybe he could act like a proper English man and start the day with tea, breakfast and newspapers. While he waited for the kettle to boil he went to buy The Daily Mail on the newsstand right around the corner. He saw the story gleaming towards him from every front page and felt his heart skip a beat. Fucking hell!

Mycroft made sure to read the papers before Sherlock could. He didn’t like reading papers that had been read by someone before him. He didn’t like it when the pages got wrinkled. This day was no exception. Sherlock had asked him to bring the papers directly to him, but Mycroft had refused and locked himself in his office, not wanting Sherlock to rip the paper out of his hands, which he could be very much likely to do. When he unfolded the paper, he saw John’s face staring up at him from the entire front page. He was kneeling, sitting on one knee, hands stretching out towards an invisible reciever. Over his head, made as commercial as possible, The Daily Mail had printed in large, white letters: 

“SHERLOCK, WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

Mycroft felt a twinge of emotion arise within him. Sentiment. Wow. This was surely something else.  
“Sherlock!” he called and waited the obligatory three minutes before he got up from his chair and went to find Sherlock himself. He was lying in the sofa in the next room.  
“Sherlock, I know you can hear me.”  
“Yes, but I knew you would come in here if I didn’t answer. You’re so easy to read.”  
“As are you, apparently.”  
“What do you mean?”  
Mycroft tossed The Daily Mail at Sherlock who caught it with one hand.  
“Thought that might… interest you.”  
Sherlock looked at the front page, and Mycroft could tell that he had become completely out of breath. Sherlock opened the paper to read the section within, and Mycroft leaned over to read the headlines. 

"Exclusively!  
True love behind London’s crime scenes:  
Sherlock Holmes’ sidekick, Dr. John Watson, proposes marriage.  
* How two male companions became best friends and lovers.  
* Watson: I’ve always dated women, but Sherlock is something special."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock who was reading with large eyes. When he’d read through the entire article he got up so quickly that Mycroft almost fell over.  
“Sorry, Mycroft, gotta go.” Sherlock said and sprinted towards the exit door.  
“Sherlock, you’re still in your dressing gown!”  
“Just send my clothes to Baker Street at the earliest convenience.” Sherlock called back, already halfway out the door, so Mycroft could barely hear the last words. He laughed at himself and was genuinely happy for his brother. 

***

John was walking back and forth in the flat in Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson had already been upstairs, and she’d almost hugged him breathless, leaving with her fingers tightly crossed. The clock was past nine now. Surely Sherlock would have seen the newspaper by now. And just as he thought so, he heard the downstairs door open. Five seconds later, sweet god he must have run, Sherlock stood in the doorway. They were facing each other. Time stopped. Then Sherlock burst into John’s arms and kissed him tightly.  
“Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you, John.” he said between kisses.  
John pulled him away so that he could look into Sherlock’s beautiful eyes, which were now gleaming with tears.  
“You will?”  
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!” Sherlock said again, and once again they were all over each other.  
After what felt like forever they managed to stop kissing.  
“I love you, Sherlock. Whereever we are, I love you.”  
“I love you too, John. Now there’s only one thing to do.”  
“What?”  
“Call The Daily Mail and hand them the sequel.”

***

The next day all of London’s newspapers had three large letters printed on the front:  
“YES!”

(And even though John suspected it, he never got to know for sure that Sherlock deliberately had asked for a room with only one bed during their stay in Denmark.)


End file.
